Fuck its only Wednesday...Kill some time to get closer to Friday

[mustynutz]

Today I had to go for a drug test and it reminded me of this job I had (very briefly) about 7 years ago. I haven't done illegal drugs in about 6 years so todays test is just a pain in the ass errand on my day off.


A couple of year ago I needed to earn some extra money for the holidays. Prior to that year I had always worked as a server and made tons of money around christmas. Trying to get a job that would be close to the career path I was on, I was working in a docotrs office making about negative $2.00 an hour. Not buying any special gifts on that kind of flow!

Where in the world would anyone be hiring around the holidays? Toys R us of course! Millions of dollars being spent on parents frantic to buy their childrens love. Grandparents spoiling the hell out of bratty, snot filled grandkids. I could benefit from this situation!

I apply in person and am hired to work the cash register. I go through the first day of training on the register and have get the hang of it in about five minutes. Takes no brain cells at all. Scan, scan, scan total, take money or credit card. Scan, scan, scan and on and on and on. About an hour into my mind numbing shift the shift leader informs me that on my break I need to take a drug test.

Uh Oh! Big uh oh! How could I have missed the sign on the door stating that they are a drug free workplace? I was an avid pot smoker. And by avid I mean everyday a couple of times a day. You know the song by sublime, smoke 2 joints? "Smoke 2 joints in the morning, smoke 2 joints at night. Smoke 2 joints in the afternoon, makes me feel all right." Yeah, that was me, except it was bong hits. I had even tried my hand at um..lets call it distribution to help pay for my habit.

Ok, dont panic, I will just go with the flow and see what happens. On my break they take me to the bathroom to take a sample of my THC laden piss. Thinking I was slick I peed in the toilet and then scooped some urine into the cup, hoping that the water from the toilet would dilute the sample enough so that I would pass the test ( yes folks, they did not have the blue dye and temperature thing on the cups).

Two weeks go buy with no word on my drug test. I think I am in the clear. Damn I'm clever! I even stopped smoking thinking that they may request another sample because the first one was too diluted. I was wrong! Not only did I get fired, I found out that even with my diluting trick, I was still off the THC scale.

Lesson learned? Hell no, I got 2 weeks worth of extra money and bought all the gifts I wanted to get all those special poeple I love. I know you would think I would take that 2 weeks of not smoking and run with it, but no. I ran right over to my friend Joses house and smoked out.

the point? Don't smoke? No. Don't apply for a job that requires drug testing if you are a pothead? No.
Do not apply for a job that requires drug testing if you are a pothead without first taking precations. Yep, thats it, now go forth and get those holiday jobs.

 

[mustynutz]

I left school at a young age, It didn't seem to be helping me any except for the multitude of girls I got to move among during the day, I felt I was better off kick starting my working career, make my first million so to speak. My first job was in a brick factory, this place specialised in firing red bricks and my job was to remove the fired bricks from a kiln and stack them on a pallet, a fork lift would come and take the fully stacked pallet away and deposit a empty one for me to stack.

It was bloody hot and hard work but the boss was a good guy and most of the other guys were ok, I was only fifteen and still wet behind the ears but I was glad to have a job and money at the end of each week. There was only one female that worked at this factory and she was the boss's daughter. Her name was Meryl and to call her a bush pig would be an injustice to bush pigs, unfortunately she got hit pretty hard with the ugly stick at birth and did nothing about making herself look a little better.

Meryl ran the office and was the paymaster, the other guys that worked there joked frequently about doing Meryil if she wore a paper bag over her head and other nasty and crass things. I felt sorry for her at first but she took a unhealthy attraction to me that quite frankly scared the bejesus out of me. She took to touching me every time she passed me, patting my butt and winking at me. This wasn't too bad but Friday afternoons I dreaded most.

The boss left early on Fridays and so did the tradesmen leaving only the labourers, Meryl paid everyone Friday afternoons but always left mine for last. "Saxon, would you come to the pay office please" would screech out over the PA system and I would shudder. Standing in her office she would have her hands behind her back with my pay packet in them and say "kiss me and ill give you your pay" "aw Meryl" id stammer "you know I don't think the boss would like that", "oh bull" she would say "you know if you did what I wanted your pay packet might be a little heavier".

This just grossed me out, Meryl was around 17 or 18 years old and wasn't hugely over weight but her body wasn't proportionate for some reason, she had large breasts that didn't sit right on her chest, her nose ran constantly like she had a eternal cold. Her shoulder length straight brown hair was dirty and oily and only matched her teeth in colour. When she breathed on me I felt my eye lashes and brow wilt like they just got hit with a blow torch, talk about dragon breath, she could strip paint off a wall with that breath.

One Friday she came into work in a dress, this shocked not only me but everyone commented on Meryl in a dress because she only ever wore jeans, BIG JEANS. She was particularly attentive to me that day and I did my best to avoid her whenever she came near me. As per usual very late that afternoon "Saxon would you come to the pay office please" screeched out over the PA.

I walked into her office to find her standing in front of her desk, she walked toward me and around to my right and locked the door, I started to mouth "why did you lock the door" when she moved back to where she was standing and said "I have a special surprise for you" with that her hands went to the shoulder straps of her dress and it fell to the floor leaving her standing there stark naked.

"JESUS HAVE MERCY" this woman had nipples like six inch roofing bolts and enough pubic hair to stuff a mattress. I tried to turn and flee like a startled gazelle but I froze. She leaned backward laying on her back on her desk and said "take me im yours" HOLY MOTHER OF GOD this was frightening, I now noticed the sweat rash under her heaving bosom and the rash between her thighs went to her knees.

I was in a traumatic shock. My mouth hung open, my heart was beating so fast it verged on over load and was close to exploding in my chest, I felt my knees buckle, my cock shrivelled and tried desperately to press itself back into my body, if my penis could talk it would have said "you put me anywhere near that and you will never have children" Then I screamed, I couldn't stop the girly scream that issued from my lips. This startled her greatly and she knocked everything off her desk trying to sit up or get to her feet im not sure which but I just stood there in terror screaming like a big girly skirt.

She finally got to her feet and lunged forward trying to put her hand over my mouth to muffle my screams but the momentum of her movement coupled with her weight was like a runaway freight train, her body struck mine and carried us both backwards smashing through the door spilling us out onto the open floor where the rest of the workers had gathered to see what the hell was going on. I lay on the floor under Meryl's naked body preying to god "PLEASE LORD TAKE ME NOW" if you truly are merciful god strike me dead now and bring me to heaven.

Meryl didn't come to work on the following Monday in fact I never saw her again, all the other guys there could only walk up to me pat me on the back and say "good job son" then walk off laughing hysterically. The boss called out from the office to come see him, he shut the door and sat down saying "I heard about the situation on Friday and I just want to say I know you will do the right thing by Meryl if she's pregnant"

The blood drained from my face as my knees buckled, I caught the vision of Meryls naked body in my memory as I hit the floor in a dead faint.

 

[mustynutz]

This list is similer to the one skippy did a while back i started working on it in the beginnning of october and thought id post my own version of things i can no longer do at work. Enjoy
Yes everyone, I did do everything on this list sometimes more then once!

Explanations of these events:
A) I did myself, and either got in trouble or commended.
B) Was spontaneously informed I was not allowed to do.
C) Was the result of a clarification of the above.
D) I was just minding my own business, when something happened.
E) Things that have been silently understood as not acceptable.

To explain why I haven't been fired, I'm funny and my last job was at the US Post Office so I don't think they want to make me upset. (Actually it finally happened as of Nov 4th, 2004 I am officially unemployed.)


I am not allowed to make up manager specials.

I will refrain from doing my pole dance on the sales floor.

I am not allowed to play hide and go seek during a power outage.

I will refrain from making forts in the stock room with merchandise.

The security cameras are not following me, if they were there's a good reason.

I will refrain from hitting on customers. Especially when there husbands are near by.

I am not allowed to give discounts based on how cute someone looks.

I am not allowed to answer the phone and pretending to be Applebee's.

I will refrain from singing along to the music videos at work.

I will refrain from slapping any of my co-workers on the ass.

I cannot unplug the phones to have a cook out.

I may not have a football party while at work.

I will refrain from offering maintaince services for things that don't exist.

There is no such thing as blinker fluid, winter and summer air for tires.

Hitting on the ISM girls is not part of my job description.

"Other duties as assigned" on my job description does not mean I can choose what they are.

I will refrain from having rubber band fights.

There aren't any subliminal messages in the music at work.

The voices I hear on the p.a. are not voices in my head, so there is no need to assume the fetal position.

I will refrain from paging {Csm to the men's room, customer waiting}.

I will refrain from talking with a Japanese accent.

I will refrain from having sword fights with the Styrofoam.

I will refrain from doing the 'Mr. Roboto' dance during someone else's sails pitch to make them laugh.

Wednesday isn't hump day and therefore I cannot claim holiday pay.

I do not get 'that time of the month'.

I cannot hire a team of trained monkeys to do my bidding.

The pressurized oil machine isn't meant to be used as play thing.

I am not allowed to use the oil machine to see how far I can make it shoot.

I am not allowed to go within 5 ft of the oil machine, ever - under any circumstances.

I am not allowed to use company merchandise to make bootleg movies.

I am not to watch 'Boon dock Saints' while working.

I will refrain from using any power tools.

I will refrain from grabbing my co-workers ass even if she did grab mine first.

I will refrain from bringing in soundtracks from Disney movies and re-enacting them on the sales floor.

I will refrain from taking pictures of management and photo shopping them for amusement.

I can not watch the Simpson's on all the TV's on the sales floor.

I will refrain from taking field trips to the mall on company time.

A novelty throwing disk is a Frisbee not a cleaning product. No matter what the box claims and cannot be claimed as a work related expense.

The paper bags in the ladies room is for girl related items and no further explanation is required.

I am not allowed to ask for the day off due to religious reasons; on the basis is that the world in going to end more then once.

Not allowed to trade company assets for magic beans.

I will refrain from quoting Dr. Seuss as product features.

If something makes me giggle for more than 10 seconds I should assume I'm not allowed to do it.

The keys in the lost and found do not belong to me, nor are they for an imperial walker.

I am no longer allowed to give lap dances while at work.

Even if they are free.

I am not a lesbian trapped in a mans body.

The ladies room is off limits even if I'm invited.

The chairs in the ladies room are not there so the girls can practice lap dances on one anther.

A ruler is not a light saber or a weapon of any kind and should be treated as such.

I will refrain from playing crouching tiger hidden dragon while at work.

It isn't polite to say "I do not speak Spanish I speak English, Welcome to the United States, Bitch" in Spanish to customers looking at the shinny rims.

My Sgm is not a cyborg sent from the future to make my life miserable, nor is he malfunctioning.

I will refrain from taking candy from strangers.

I will refrain from putting AOL disks in the microwaves just because it looks cool.

I will not use the AOL CD's as Frisbees.

Playing Frisbee golf is not appropriate while working.

Nate is not gay; I should stop telling people he is, even if it is to get him dates.

I am not allowed to get phone numbers off of the computer for dating purposes; it's for business use only.

I am not allowed to make long distance calls to old friends, while working.

I am not allowed to call local friends while working.

I will refrain from calling the watch lady's in the mall asking what time it is.

I am not allowed to put my SGM on hold and then transfer him to the pa when he's talking to me.

I will refrain from adding sound effects after I page someone.

I am not allowed to play my music over the PA system.

I am to refrain from making out with female co-workers in the office.

I am to refrain from making out with female co-workers anywhere in the store.

Even if it's my day off.

 

[mustynutz]

I am to refrain from doing any April fools day pranks that require more then 5 min. to clean.

I am not allowed to pack my managers office full of packing peanuts, EVER AGAIN Even though it was hilariously funny (And expensive)

A slacker is not a super hero and probably not the best costume to wear to work for Halloween.

Blue jeans and a T-shirt do not qualify as a costume.

I am not to accept candy as a form of payment.

I will refrain from asking my managers if there on crack, especially in front of customers.

I will refrain from informing management of there mistakes, its mine for not understanding there thinking behind it.

The customer is always right, unless there wrong in which case I cannot tell them I must count to ten really slowly and get someone else to talk to them.

It would not be funny if a customer bitch slapped any management figure.

I am not to encourage any such event.

I am not to tell management I would laugh and then call security when I was finished laughing if said event would ever occur. Most likely cause I wouldn't stop laughing for a long long time.

I am not in need of a more suitable host body.

I should refrain from listing to the voices in my head over management.

No, the pants are not optional.

I am not allowed to drive customer's cars around the garage in circles.

I am only allowed to drive a customer's vehicle directly into the garage in the shortest possible path, not the other way.

I do not need to drive in every cute girl's vehicle into the garage to see how nice it smells.

The only thing I may do to a customer's radio is turn it off.

I am not to perform a quality check on a sound system.

Nor am I to bump it while driving into the garage, no matter how funny it may look.

I am to write real problems on the Qsc's even if it's the customers real wording of a problem.

I may not challenge my coworkers to a stapler fight at dawn, especially if I'm not going to show up.

When a customer upsets me a proper response is not to threaten to kick them in the head.

Customers who swear, use vulgarity, and say rude or offensive things are not to be forwarded to Applebee's.

I am not allowed to forward any calls to the district manager's cell phone,

Nor my boss' or store managers.

If a customer comes in and says he's going to take the store to small claims court, I am not to mention our team of highly trained monkey lawyers will defeat him.

WHEN a customer comes in and threatens to sue the store (Happens more then you think) I am not to offer my services to help them in there case. Especially if I would be doing nothing legally wrong.

I am not allowed to play into a customers delusions that there is something wrong with there car.

If a customer comes in and smells of pot I do not have to call the cops out of moral obligation.

I'm only allowed to talk to customers to inform them about issues relating to there vehicle not for any other purpose.

I am not allowed to circulate internal memo's I am not a manager and don't need to tell everybody about every little thing.

My manager is allowed to listen in on my calls to quality check me, not the other way around.

If I suspect I'm being phone shopped I may not ask to be sure.

I must continue with the phone shop when it's obvious it is one, even though I'm busy as hell.

I must use my name when answering the phone, not anyone else's especially H. Simpson.

I am not allowed to rewrite the phone procedures, they were written for a good reason and I should follow them like everybody else.

I am not allowed to make up my own forms and insist everyone start using them.

There is not a hazing procedure for the new techs.

I am not allowed to barricade anyone in the break room with stacks of tires when they piss me off.

I am not allowed to store use anything anymore, unless I have the express written permission from the store operations manager.

Sony and Hollywood do not have a satellite in orbit to steal my ideas for cool new products and movies, even though they come out with nearly identical products a year after I think of them.

I am not allowed to theorize why it would suck to be a 2 dimensional being on paper ever again; it has nothing to do with my neither job nor evolution.

I am not allowed to write un-recognized holidays on the calendar.

SAB (Slap a Bitch) is not a holiday nor should it ever be celebrated at work.

I am not allowed to use the tire markers for anything but there intended purpose.

I am not allowed to use the label maker ever again.

I am not allowed to fine coworkers for leaving the counter a mess when they leave.

I am not allowed into the back shop anymore.

I will refrain from sneaking up on co-workers.

I will refrain from hanging around and just talking to co-workers while there working, even if I'm not clocked in.
I will refrain from imitating anything I saw in a Madonna video.

I will refrain from doing anything I saw in a cartoon once.

Security does not keep a profile on me and I should stop demanding they show it to me.

It is not acceptable to place shoe size or wide width stickers on the happy area of my pants.
-This is the one that got me "Released" so I wouldn't recommend doing this-

 

[mustynutz]

Jesus, the things I do to entertain you people. I've already got a job that I have to work at for four fucking hours a day and now I go and do this. I have decided to live the vida loca and apply for the Channel 7 News Team! Heeeeeeeyah!!! I had them interrogate me today and I tell ya, I gotta say I wowed them. They were some wonderful people who let me express my ideas to the fullest. I wanted to get their numbers and take them out for dinner on a riverboat casino but they just kind of started jogging away from me. Some people and their inability to run because of their weight, I tell ya.

I pulled out all the stops, and I plan on laying it down to you exactly the way it happened except I might "Hollywood" up a few parts for the entertainment of all. I was so pumped for this interview. I woke up at 4:00 a.m. and just talked to the wall as if we were having small talk. I made it for three hours, so I knew I could pull that out at the interview and possibly be promoted to the king of news.

I brushed my teeth with delicious Killians Irish Red and thew on my lucky robe with my initials on it. I ran to the station which was 10 miles away to get out my nerves. Well, that and I only use cars for elaborate stunts as opposed to transportation as of last Friday. I burst through the door and tackled the closest person to me, slowly beating the life out of someone that will be victim to my rage of having to actually interact with, dare I say, local legends Tom Fallsworth and Nancy Kapera.

Unfortunately I'm a dumbass and didn't realize they weren't even going to be there. Oh well, some fat guy with a goatee and a striped shirt who's possibly of Indian blood will do.

Me: HOLA! Watch this!

I spring a perfect cartwheel with a tricky dismount that made him chuckle. Fuck you and your laughter.

Indy: That was...impressive. Any other frivolous acts you want to get out of the way?

I quickly threw myself at him and thew him a good five feet in the air and caught him like a baby.

Indy: Okay that was awesome! Anything else man? I'm seriously thinking about hiring you already.

Me: I would like to discuss my background if you don't mind, and I would also like to tell you to stop with the childish games. I see through it. Don't sympathize with my antics and then proceed to tell me i'm out of luck. I won't fall for such shenanigans. I want you to see I am qualified for this job.

Indy: Says here you're president of the NFL for a year? And you were in the 96' Olympics? You taught babies sign language? Oh yeah, you're just what we're looking for.

Me: I could do sports and segments on teaching people to sign out "turtle" or "ant".

Indy: Jesus guy you're killing me here! You make me love the entrance and then fall back when I find you fuck around with the application?

Me: Well unfortunately for you I'm a lawyer and a therapist as well and I say I'm sueing you for emotional distress! How dare you sir! I taught babies sign language!!! Oh god, have you no heart????

Indy: This is ridiculous, you're officially wasting my time and effort. Please, refrain from talking to me and exit the premises?

Me: Wait. Please, give me one more chance. Let me pull out the trump card that's gonna kick your ass to high heaven!

Indy: Hmmm....Okay, I'll let you say your peace.

Me: GLALL Marching Band Of Kids Who Feel Dirty For Being Molested UNITE!!!

With that I kicked down the door and had the most kickass throwdown of all time. Donnie was fucking on with the french horn, and Sarah didn't miss a beat on the bass drum. I was so proud of my kids. We have practiced for this day for four years, and it was truly a grand moment in time to see them in their purest of forms. They stayed in their formations, kicking out their legs at the appropraite timings to give it that greatness. Even Stanley, who never gets in on the fun, was kicking out the jams at full volume. I put a pot over my head and began hitting it with a hammer, creating the clearest E tone I've ever heard.

At the end they all chanted GLALL forty times and attempted a forward flip, causing four deaths and 6 injuries. Inday was totally stunned, staring at the children who's necks were broken from their attempt for glory. He slowly turned towards me and slowly uttered the words I had waited for...

"Get the fuck out of this facility AT ONCE!!!!"

Fucking hell yeah man! It was even about getting the job or not you know, it was about the kids. I took them all to go sky diving and we all had quite a good time. I can't wait until I apply to the Olive Garden and the kids get the chance to perform without any casualties this time. I might even get them some breadsticks after their done. Hardest working sons of bitches in the business of job bands, I tell ya.

 

[mustynutz]

Yes, I am at work, and here I am. Why? Because the boss lady told me that I am not supposed to do any more work of what is here, but wait for something that was supposed to be here two hours ago. So I am going to post something that is just rather... bitchy. Why? yes because I am getting paid to sit in front of a computer and not work. Oh, and Jabberwacky.com keeps taking to long to load. Very interesting conversation tonight though, it included: pirates, butt plugs, and the artificial intelegence computer trying to tell me its as real as the sun but is the moon... so of course there was alot of mocking involved. alrightty....

So I havn't been up to much lately since its been cold and ickky out side lately, but I did manage to leave yesterday! it was a good outing day, I went to the neighboring cities sculpture garden and the lock and dam just because they are cool places to go. And it was nice, really nice, almost the kind of nice that I wish I had a significant other to share with, but thats a bit far away for now.

Heh, but I can honestly say that I've given up on actually looking, not like I was ever on the prowl before. But yes its all good, and to prove it I think I will share some horror stories of my search that I have gotten past.

But first something way fucking not cool. here I am at work, its my primary gate to the internet, and you know what, I am actually working, or was up until this point, I usually take a while to actually type my entrys and take breaks to do work, so here I am working and my hand feels a bit odd, and I actually look down at my hands, I have partial skills right now keyboarding so I dont usually, but yeah just prancing on his merry way is this huge brown nasty assed spider, of course I do what anyone naturally does when their space was rudly interupted and started to shake my entire arm viciously and get out of my chair. Then to not cause any more attention to myself I just sit down and stare at the floor, because I knew that little bastard had to have fallen somewhere, its so not cool, now I'm all tense and crap and do you think I'm really motivated to work now?!Hell no, so I'm staring at the floor to waiting for that punk to start moving so I can spot him. and I did finally, and he went Squish!! Ha, bi-otch! thats what you get. ok back to the stories, I need a smoke.

This is the going out in everyday life and meeting people, who apparently think the only places to talk to people are either at fast food places and the bus, which let me tell you if they aren't crazy they just were... ok no, I think either way they were crazy. But one time I was walking home from the video store, me and my son, having a nice walk when this guy stops and asked if I went to a certain high school, now he didn't look familiar but that doesn't mean that I didn't know him neccessarily. So I said yes I did and he was talking about how he recognized me from something or another and I was like thats cool, la la la... and we get ready to go on our merry little way, he said by to me and then turned to my son and said, "Bye! If your mom quits playin' I'll be yar next daddy!" and thats when the shock set in, me just standing there blankly like my brain just got fried and he just went allong his way down the street never to be seen again.... what the hell.

Since I work so closely with computers I didn't rule out the whole meeting someone through one completely, untill that is until I met a few people that actualy didn't freak me out at first. One I met, he did some agitating things, you know like side with your friends against you so he could be liked by all, drink a little on the heavy side, didn't mention that smoking pot 'every once in a while' actually meant whenever he could get ahold of some. And yes, that turned into talking to him for a bit, and then finding out he was a man-hore, which is never a good thing. Another I was just talking to, not even in a romanticly mindset way, just to talk to someone since I have no computer at home, and so here I am on the phone and he says completely out of the blue, "You know what I can't stand?" And I thought it was going to be something like the skin on pudding or something, totally just an everyday thing because I barely knew the dude, but then its, "I can't stand interracial breeding"...... um... what?.... uh.... I have another call I'll call you back.... never to be spoken to again. Apparently when he knew that I had a child he never had the mindset to ask what race my child was before he decided to make that comment because even though I am 'so cool' is what the words were I was one of those damned people that helps create inter-racial breeding. heh, wow, yeah people are special and I think I'm going to go and work a bit more. Yay!

 

[mustynutz]

50 things to do while bored at work



1. Stack items in cabinets so that they fall out on people when opened.
2. Move specific items to specific places everyday. (I.e. move the boss' favorite pen from his desk to the floor every day if asked about it blame it on ghosts.)
3. Edit posts in forums you never post in by hacking peoples passwords.
4. Fantasize about the hot Russian cleaning girls.
5. Queue porno music to start when cleaning crew comes around the corner.
6. Make blow darts out of the plastic tips of your shoelaces a straight pin and a Bic pen.
7. Watch a DVD
8. Listen to a CD
9. Go around to all the offices and look at pictures of their families, make a new list of daughters, sisters, cousins you want to bang.
10. Explore the women's bathroom.
11. Make a pot of coffee just to see how long it takes to boil down to tar.
12. Play games online.
13. Go on a candy hunt
14. Search e-Bay for illegal substances
15. Try to freeze things with canned air then try to smash them like the liquid metal terminator.
16. Work on coming up with really good scams or practical jokes.
17. Go through people's desks to see if you can find liquor in any of them.
18. Open the bottom ends of all the boxes of pens and pencils in the office supply closet.
19. Digitally edit photos of monkeys to hold knives/swords
20. Create a fictional background of said photos including names and upbringings of said monkeys.
21. In a large company, there are parties in one department or another almost everyday, check the department fridges for leftover pizza/goodies.
22. Read magazines/websites/books at work.
23. Create large scale fantastic delusions of grandeur.
24. Check for porn in the internet cache of people who leave their systems logged in.
25. Take revenge against people who you don't like. For instance, tape an anchovy under their desk. Their office will smell like ass.
26. Hoard all of the good office supplies, gel pens ink cartridges for home, anything you can sell to someone in the office.
27. Scavenger hunt, check the bulletin boards for lost items and see if you can find them.
28. Try to make the longest paperclip chain, or largest rubber band ball.
29. Put a bootable Linux CD in your boss' drive and watch him freak out the next morning.
30. Leave random voicemails for random people.
31. Try to determine who would win in a fight: place random people in the fights using prefixes such as undead and suffixes such as driving a mech.
32. Pretend like you're moving your car from the far end of the parking lot near the door so you can burn one.
33. Plan ahead to your next high school reunion, try to plot out a plan of attack, time will be limited you want to try and bang as many girls from high school that wouldn't talk to you as possible.
34. Come up with a plan of world domination.
35. Shoot down your own plans of world domination.
36. Try to find someplace where you can take a nap
37. Listen to the game on the radio
38. Stick a thumb tack into the eraser on a pencil stand it on your desk, attempt to shoot rubber bands off of the ceiling and down around the pencil.
39. Start a stop watch, wheel yourself in your chair into the elevator down to the bottom, or top floor to a set location and wheel yourself back work on a better time.
40. Super glue random objects together, use your imagination.
41. Change the speed dial on other peoples phones
42. Call the helpdesk and ask stupid questions.
43. Call the number on the back of your soda and ask them stupid questions. Ask them what they are wearing.
44. Inject boss' jellybeans with liquid stool softener
45. Balance your checkbook.
46. Think about how fucked up you are going to get tonight.
47. Write a new constitution, with ridiculous amendments.
48. Get a mini basketball hoop and shoot around.
49. Shake up any soda in any company fridge.
50. Write a ridiculously long list of things to do while bored at work and post it online.

 

[mustynutz]

I work at Savers, or ValueVillage or Village des Valeurs, its a big mess in between thrift store and department store.

I am a cashier/floor runt, basically i remove clothes from the racks and put new ones on, and organize them. I have been working there for about a week, and one day during my shift I met heather. I used to go to school with heather, she was the type that sat in the corner and read books. I was 2 grades below her, but she was on my bus and i think i might have said no more than fifteen words to her during the course of the bus rides.

Heather says hi to me and extends her hand for a handshake, i reluctantly accept and say "Hey you went to my school right?", her eyes light up as if i spoke words that would make shakespeare say, "Damn, thats good...". I didn't catch that at first because my mind was in hibernate doing redundant tasks.

All throughout the day she kept passing comments at me, like "You're doing a good job" type deals, so i took a good look at her, i noticed the following problems.

1. she has more facial hair than i do
2. if she shaved she'd still be ugly
3. she has a bit of a gut and saggy boobs, so it looks like she has 2 sets of saggy boobs
4. she's very unpleasant looking

But, i'm sure she's got all that "inner-beauty" crap people talk about, so instead of calling her, Ugly Heather, lets call her, Inner-Beauty Heather or IBH for short.

So i am sorting 1983 trucker hats and IBH comes up to me and asks me for my number to see a movie, my brain, not working right, i say yes, moments later my brain turns the generator and we're working in emergency mode, terror alert went from code blue to red in a matter of seconds, this is like defcon 4 here. My head was going, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, that by the time i looked back she was already gone, i knew IBH was going to ask me my number, so i was working hard on thinking how i could get out of this one.

1. I KNEW IBH was over 19, which makes me jailbait. I figured i could go out with her, bug my room for sound and video, tip off the cops and take one for the team, do some community service. I figured i would have a code word for the cops i would say, immediately as penetration took place, like "Oh, now thats a good lasagna!" and they would bust in, cuff her, take her away and give me a medal and an award. The only problem was, i don't think she is easy and she wouldn't go for it, the cops wouldn't go for it and i would be grinning like an idiot the whole time.

2. the good ole "Just Say No" method, i figure, this will be the last resort, a cop out.

3. Tell her i am gay: another cop out

Needless to say number 3 was looking pretty good for the remainder of the day.

during the day, another female employee asked me something about some work thing and IBH gave her the "he-fucking-mine-bitch-don't-touch" look. This freaked me out even more, because i wasn't going to make IBH into Mrs. Sublime, but now finding out she is a manipulative bitch, I sure as hell wasn't going to become Mr. IBH.

Then at the end of the day, the moment came, and i saw the light. She asked and she received, my number.

You might be thinking, aww he realized inner-beauty and true love conquers over all in a picturesque type way where i'm the grinch and my heart grew three sizes. You thought wrong, It was more like the end of Back to the Future: Part 1 where the DeLaurean won't start, and he slams his head on the steering wheel and the thing starts, thats what happened to me, my brain finally turned on and the cogs were turning properly, i gave her my number: 514-748-6971

Now, i should mention that, the part of my brain that turned on was what is known as "the asshole lobe" in the scientific community. That number is not in fact my number, it is the number for MY favorite pizza place, St-laurent Pizzeria. I figure it'd be a favor to her, once the sense of rejection sets it she'd want to order an extra large pepperoni pizza, or 3.

Over my next few shifts she didn't acknowledge my existence, she had been working there for a few years i think, and she quit a few days after the incident, no one knew.

I could feel bad for myself, because i caused all this, and she could have been a good person, but being a good person takes a back seat when i would be embarassed to show you to my friends.

Anyway, after she left i got a promotion to Halloween guy, I get to wear a Pirate hat and tell kids what costumes are new and cool

Score one for the bad guy.

 

[mustynutz]

Oh man, I'm dyin here. I'm sweating, I'm shakin and my eyes keep rolling.
Christ it's even hard to type.
Last night I went for Pizza – my local cheap-as-chips pizzeria. As usual, I ordered an American hot – pepperoni with Jalapeno's, extra-hot chillis – and my usual extra portion of extra hot chilli's. Man, did that shit taste good on the way in.

But fuck me, my stomach has growled and burped inside for the last two hours since I got outta bed(it's 09.24 GMT)

A moment ago I had to go to the mens, to release the fiery fury inside, at almost the precise moment I was supposed to be addressing my new team of employees.

I sat there noisily splurting out thin molten liquid, almost crying, the heat emanating from my poor choclolate starfish causing it to retract and grate against every single fibre of those vicious little bastards as they fell to their watery freedom. I pissed sweat, and my face was pale.

Twenty minutes later I emerged, reminiscent of an anal rape victim, the cold beads of salty fluid coursing down my face accentuating the almost translucent appearance of my skin. I've bloodshot eyes, and I'm shaking from the pain.

If you've ever imagined shitting a red hot poker, you're kinda in my ballpark.

I just walked into the meeting room and couldn't help letting one go – my arsehole was so hot I didn't even realise until the foetid stench hit my nose – my skin turned from pallid to bright red and I just tried to pretend it wasn't me, but I don't think my new employees missed it..........especially as one of the guys sat at the front of the room as I walked in, was the same guy who I saw as I emerged from the cubicle in the gents while I was parping and spluttering.

Oh, and I swear I felt a trickle down the inside of my leg.

 

[mustynutz]

Breakfast made it's way to my large intestine around 2:48 pm. As I toward the bathroom to relieve myself, only a few things crossed my mind. I wished for a clean and empty stall, a full roll of toilet paper, and hoped a kind soul had left something in the john for my reading enjoyment. I rounded Annette's desk, walked down the hallway, and entered the second door on the left.

"Men's Room", the sign said. Indeed, I am a man, I have a penis and testicles, and the urge to purge. This was my stop. As I entered, it seemed the cleaning lady, Lupe, had just finished up. The bathroom was spotless and perfect, with just a hint of chlorine in the air to sting my nose, and the slight, wafting scent of Lupe's sweet scent, fruity perfume dashed with a hint of frijoles. All three stalls were open and pristine. I made my way to furthest one.

Now, friends, at this point I considered the man rules. You may not know this, but we men have very important rules and courtesies when it comes to the bathroom. For example, you never, ever, ever look at another man's junk while in the urinal. Actually, this shouldn't even be considered, because Men's Bathroom rule number one is to take the furthest stall or urinal away from the exit. There should never be a time when you take a leak at the neighboring urinal, because Men's Bathroom rule numero dos states that if a urinal is taken, you use the next one over.

And Men's Bathroom rule number three? Unless you're carrying on a conversation with someone before you enter the bathroom, absolutely NO talking. Ever.

I was happy with my stall. There was indeed a full roll of toilet paper. The seat was up, having recently been cleaned. All signs of black curlies were negative. And, dear lord, thank you, there was the stocks section of today's paper.

After that, it was business as usual. I'm not going to get into details, friends, but something happened as I was scanning the blue chips section. The door to the bathroom opened, and someone entered.

It took only a few moments for the nameless, faceless perpetrator to find his target. It seemed this sick individual's breakfast had also hit him. The footsteps led to my direction, and the bastard broke Men's Bathroom rule number two. He entered the stall next to mine.

I was furious. I was upset. I was confused. 'Doesn't this guy know to take the stall furthest away from me?', I questioned myself. 'Doesn't he know proper etiquette? Now that we're sitting and shitting next to each other, does that make me...gay?' The man had hurt my feelings. I now sat hopeless, unable to have a pleasant bowel movement. From the shuffling of his feet, he decided that, yes, his was the stall to crap in. I almost wanted to say something, but for fear of breaking Men's Bathroom rule number three, decided in good judgment against doing so. And then it happened.

"Hey." The man's deep baritone voice and slight southern drawl, which I immediately recognized as a black man's voice, boomed and echoed through the stall like a fart in the Vatican. It was contemptible. It was outrageous. It was wholly evil. He had broken two Men's Bathroom rules in just under a minute.

I sat frozen in terror as thoughts raced through my brain, synapses firing at nanoseconds. Do I respond? Would it be rude to not carry on a conversation? He's black, maybe he's been in prison, do they do this kind of thing in the pen? What if I piss him off by not talking to him? What if he sees I'm a frail white man? Will he try to have his way with me? I prayed to God to let this be a fluke.

So, I did what any rational individual would do: I cleared my throat. It was basically the verbal equivalent of a head nod, and I did not have to respond any more than that.

"What's up?" His voice boomed again. My brow was beading with sweat. I was scared. I was nervous. I was on the verge of tears. Why does he want a conversation buddy? Will I have to wipe him when he's done? What if I know this guy? Will I be able to look him in the eyes after this? He probably wants to take advantage of me. Black prison guy with big dick fucks small white guy with anal hymen in bathroom stall. I was scared for my life.

I responded in my best disgusted voice. "Taking a shit, man. That's why I'm here. Nothing else." Why the FUCK is he talking to me? Maybe he would get the hint now to stop talking. I have to be the alpha-male here, now. I have to be in charge. I can't show weakness. I wanted my mommy.

"How ya doin'?" He wanted a conversation? I'll give him conversation. I'll make myself undesirable so he won't think twice about leaving me alone.

"Honestly, not too good. My stocks are down, I have horrid diarrhea, and my hemorrhoids are killing me, itching like crazy. Also, my penis is small and my balls get in the way of my rectum sometimes." That should do it. No more talk. I'll wait until he finishes, which should be soon, and then wait another five minutes, and then leave. He won't even know who it was in here. Yay me!

He paused for a moment before speaking again.
"Mm-hmm. Yeah, well, whatcha doin' tonight?" I swallowed hard. This sick fuck. Sick, sick, sick fuck. Prison must be bad if he still wants to talk after what I just told him. I sensed now that he was a hardened con, probably spending years in and out of the joint. I felt sorry for him. Should I be nice now? Maybe he didn't know the Men's Bathroom rules. They have piss-troughs in prison, you know. He wanted to know what I'm doing tonight...well, having dinner. Maybe I should invite him? But what afterwards? I don't want to be his bitch! Sure, I'm flattered, maybe even curious, but my answer is no. I should love my neighbor, Jesus says. Well, this guy's it, I guess.

"Well, my wife and I are having dinner, so you're welcome to join us. Hell, we could even go out for beers after work, if you want. I know this great place that keeps Schlitt's on tap, if you can believe it. You'd like it, I bet." I am a good Samaritan. I am nice. Maybe he won't rape me if we're friends.

Once more, his voice echoed. "Hey, I got some asshole in the stall next to me trying to carry on a conversation; I'm on my cell, I'll give you a call back."

 

[mustynutz]

God damn you enter key!!! I tried posting this earlier but I accidentally pressed enter before I even wrote anything. I solved that by re-posting one of my old stories. Well, this is the tale I meant to tell you.

For a quick introduction, you should know these 3 things. 1) I am 15 2) My parents are obsessed about education 3) They made me do volunteer work. Now that we've gone through that, I'll get on with the story.

It started out normally, if you could call it that. I was dressed up in khaki's with my volunteer, I mean, "VolunTEEN" (yes, the hospital was that gay) uniform tucked in, along with my "VolunTEEN" badge that had my name on it, and my ID number to sign in and out, so they could record my hours. I needed a total of 50 hours, and at least 6 weeks. I worked on Tuesdays and Thursdays, from 10 to 2. A total of 8 hours of misery each week.

It was Tuesday morning, and my assignment was Histology. When I signed up for this, I expected it to be someone scientific, and I might learn something. I was wrong; all I ever did was file blood slides numbered from 1 to 15,000 (fun huh?). So, as I was saying, I was dropped off by mom at the front entrance, and I made my way to the main lobby, where I would sign in on a specialized computer. When I reached the computer, I looked down at my badge to see my ID number, which I was too lazy (or stupid) to memorize, but...the badge wasn't there. It must have been in my moms car. Surprised, I ran out towards the entrance to see if my mom's car was still there, but it wasn't. I had her cell phone, and she was going directly to work, which I did not know the number for. So, I walked towards the volunteer office, where I intended to retrieve my number, so I could sign in, and get to work.

Sadly, there was no one in the office. Now, the hospital I was in is fairly big. Instead of trying to search for the fatties that worked in the office, I proceeded down to Histology, figuring that I would do my hours, and find them later, explaining to them what had happened. I took the elevator, and went inside the stinky lab of Histology. My position was back towards the slides and drawers where I put the slides in. I proceeded there and took my seat in a chair that seemed to be stained everywhere in semen.

CS-04-11094. I filed it. CS-04-14323. I filed it. CS-04-2003. I filed it. This process went on for the next 2 hours. Finally, at 12:00 I took my lunch break. I was destined to eat at the cafeteria, where I got up to $4 free because I was a "VolunTEEN". I got there and picked out a slice of pizza, some french fries, a glass of Sprite, and a bag of chips. The cashier-lady looked over my food and entered my selection into the computer.

Lady: "You're 10 cents over."

I rummaged through my pockets to find some extra change, but I found none.

Me: "I don't have 10 cents."

Lady: "Then you'll have to leave something behind."

Me: "Well, this glass isn't even full. I'm sure you could forget the extra 10 cents for my lack of drink."

Lady: "No, you either take something back, or you aren't getting any lunch."

Fortunately, a doctor came up and paid for the extra 10 cents. I thanked him and walked off. From a distance I could distinctly hear the cashier lady.

Lady: "Heh. Lousy 'VolunTEEEEEEENS'. They're nothing but a bunch of losers."

I ignored what she said and sat down at a table. I began to dig into my lunch. It was about 20 seconds later when I realized that the bottom of the pizza (the crust) had mold on it. Before I could throw up on the little kid next to me, I was abruptly disturbed by some doctors.

Doctor: "Hey 'VolunTEEEEEN'" (they always seem to drag out the 'e'). "Get outta here, this is for doctors only."

Me: "I don't see a sign saying that."

Doctor: "I don't see a badge saying you're a 'VolunTEEEEEN'".

Me: "Then why did you call me one?"

Doctor: "Hey, kid, I asked you nicely, leave this table."

My Brain: "Yea faggot? What are you going to do if I don't you faggoty fuck? Huh? What you lousy piece of shit doctor? Think you're a big man because you're picking on some kid? You faggoty piece of shit."

Me: "OK."

I was no longer hungry, so I threw away my shitty lunch, and went back to Histology. On my way I encountered a couple of old folk walking down the small hallway, blocking my path. I didn't want to be rude, so I followed them; besides, there would be an opening a couple dozen yards away, and I was in no rush to get back to that shithole Histology. As I was following them, I began to smell something. 'The Smell of Old People', I thought. The smell got stronger and stronger. Stinkier and shittier.

My Brain: "Oh god! They fucking ripped ass! Right in front of me!"

The smell was putrid. Those next dozen yards would feel like a dozen miles. I was sick of it, I pushed one of them aside and started to run down the hallway.

Old Man: "Hey! What do you think you're doing?!?!"

I didn't answer, but instead gave them the finger. What caused me to do that, I had no idea. When I turned my head back to where I was running, I saw the two fatties that worked at the volunteer office.

My Brain: "Ohhhh fuck."

A few minutes later, I found myself in the office with them and the old man.

Fatty 1: "Now apologize."

Me: "I'm sorry."

Old Man: "No problem sonny."

No problem. Then why the fuck was I in trouble? The old man left, probably to return to his mission of destroying everyone in the range of his deadly gases.

Fatty 2: "Where's your badge?"

Me: "I think I lost it. I came here this morning to find you, but you weren't here."

Fatty 1: "We need some confirmation that you were here this morning and worked your hours. Where are you working?"

Me: "Histology."

They called down to Histology to speak with one of the doctors. (Note: I don't know exactly what the doctor said, but I'm guessing based on what the fatty said).

Fatty 1: "Did a 'VolunTEEN' go down there this morning to work?"

Doctor: "A what?"

Fatty 1: "A 'VolunTEEN'."

Doctor: "No."

Fatty 1: "No? Well there's a boy here that said he works there on Tuesdays, and he went down there this morning."

Doctor: "blablablablablablai'mafuckingmoronbla."

Fatty 1: "OK."

She turned to me.

Fatty 1: "He says that you didn't come down."

Me: "That's because they put me in the corner and beat me."

Fatty 1: "What!?"

Me: "I mean, they put in the corner and make me file slides. They never know if I'm there or not."

Fatty 2: "Well, we can't really believe you. You'll have to do your hours over again."

Me: "I'm not doing them over again. I'm sick of that piece of...I'm sick of staying in Histology."

Fatty 1: "I'm sorry, but there really isn't anything we can do."

So the fat fucks gave me my new badge, and told me to start working at Histology. Fuck that. I'm not going down there. Instead, I went outside and waited 2 hours for my mom to pick me up.

Mom: "How was your work?"

Me: "Shitty."

The next thing I knew, a big piece of bird shit flew onto my window (NOT KIDDING). I didn't know whether I should laugh, or continue being angry...I continued to be angry.

 

[mustynutz]

Well firstly to start off, Yes thats right I work in Customer service for a National Chat line. Not a phone sex line, just a 'place to meet new people'. With over 1000 phone numbers throughout the US & Canada.

Anyways, so when you all are at work, working hard to make a living, I take calls from people who are home at 11:30 in the morning on a tuesday, drinking gin in their underwear. The people that feel it's okay to take a leak while on the phone with me. The people that think I enjoy listening to them masturbate to porn while asking about our services. People that think it is an escort service and asks how much I am.

These are mostly middle aged men, These people are also stupid. Straight up. I have no idea how they can live a normal day in todays society.

It is truly amazing what people do to get on these lines. The men will try the horribly fake female voice and say their name is Lisa or Stacy. They will try to give me absolutly fake 9 digit credit card numbers that start with a 2. And then ask why it declined. They will beg and plead for 5 extra minutes on the line. At the same time, People have spent $50,000US in two years on our line, can you believe that? 50 thousand bucks. Bloody amazing.

Probably the best part about my job is busting underage kids. If they sound young, we ask for the birthday, and then their age. I've gotten everything from "August 9th 1897" to "May 30th 1997", and the little kid who says he's 47 but sounds about 13. Man, when I was 13 I was making sure my G.I. Joes didn't beat up my transformers, not trying to get laid. So then I tell them if they call back we'll phone their parents and the police, even though it completly against company policy to call anyone back. It's just to scare them a bit. And also because I'm an asshole. and it works.

Out of all 50 states there are 3 in which i've heard the most rude, disgusting people i've heard in my life. People who sit in their trailer in buttfuck nowhere calling us inbetween their relations with their farm animals. These people make me never want to visit the following states just incase all the people in the state are like the ones on our line. And the worst states are.. *drumroll* Mississippi, South Carolina & Kentucky. Man oh man. There's one guy from SC who phones us at least 100 times a day on Saturdays (yep, only on saturdays) and hangs up before we can talk to him. Like it gets him off on it or something *shivers* ugh. I don't know why it's just these states, and i'm sure the majority of the poeple from these states are fine. They all have cricket phones.

The moral of this story? The people that phone into this line are truly scum. Cheap, Desperate scum. Not all, just the majority. And I have the funnest job of all time.

 

[mustynutz]

Put yourself in this position. Be creative, really make it your own!

You wake up on a Wednesday morning with no cash, an eighth tank of fuel in your automobile, no cigarettes, and a blistering hangover. But no worries because you're expecting a check in the mail for a few hundred dollars to replinish all of these things. You check the mailbox, waiting for a check, and instead find an envelope with a letter advising you that you have exhausted all funds owed to you.

You stand back, put your hand on your head, run your fingers through your hair, and say "shit." You think "what the fuck am I going to do." You're really put through the test at this point.

Nothing like this happened to me or anyone else I know but it sure would be shitty, huh? Just kidding this happened to me last Wednesday. Instead of sighing "shit," though, I think it was more like "OH FUCK I DON'T EVEN HAVE A CIGARETTE TO SMOKE I'M TOTALLY FUCKED. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!!! SHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTT!!! CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNT!!! Fuck."

So I did what desperate people who still have pride enough not to ask for money do. I went to Labor Ready.

I was laid off from a pretty good job last December. Since then, I've collected unemployment benefits, finished my last quarter at school, and pissed away every remaining cent on alcohol, cigarettes, and food. And Magic cards, movies, clothes, and DVD's. In short, I've received thousands of dollars and I haven't saved a penny. I embrace these facts without any guilt. I made a series of very poor decisions and I own up to the position I PUT MYSELF IN.

A very good friend of mine visited from Chicago during this little stage in my life. We went to the bar and took turns buying pitchers of Pabst Blue Ribbon. After we both caught a little buzz, he asked me, in so many words, what the fuck I was doing with myself. I sighed, not really knowing. I said, "I don't know." He said something to me that has stuck. He said I was trying to hit rock bottom. I didn't really understand or agree with him at the time but I think he was right.

Once a human being hits rock bottom, he can only get better. If you think about it, that's pretty damn liberating. But CONSIOUSLY trying to hit it? That's fucking COOL!! I'M FUCKING COOL!

So this last Friday I went to Labor Ready, ready and willing to prostitute my labor out to the highest bidder. For those readers who don't know what Labor Ready is, let me explain. Labor Ready is a business that capitalizes on desperate people with no money. Contractors, small business owners, machine shops, or any other business that needs cheap labor goes through Labor Ready. They pay a minimal fee to Labor Ready in exchange for warm human beings that volunteer to be slaves for eight hours. And it pays cash the same day.

I went in to this place on Thursday afternoon, just to check it out and see how it works. Pulling up in my car, I practised my breathing, telling myself that everything would be okay. That everything works out in the end. I opened the glass door, the bells made a little jingle, and carrying myself with as much pride as I could muster, I approached the desk. "Hi," I said to the man behind the counter. "How does this thing work?"

The man behind the counter said, "show up tomorrow morning at 5:30 am with your I.D. and Social Security card and expect to work eight long hours under the sun for an employer who doesn't give two shits about you. Our logo is this: If your employer says jump, you fucking jump and, while you're jumping, you ask if you're jumping high enough. If he says higher, jump higher. Got it?"

I smiled.

The next morning I showed up at 5:30 am wearing running shoes.

Now I work in a machine shop with no air-conditioning, cutting steel pipes for nine bucks an hour. It could be worse, I suppose. My supervisor's name is Emilio. He's super super nice. He says he loves working there. And he's never asked me to jump!

Things will get better.

 

[mustynutz]

For a little background read the previous one. If you're lazy, I'll recap it in one sentence. Laid off, unemployed, benefits ran out, time for Labor Ready.

Last Friday I woke up at 5:15am, rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and drove down to my local Labor Ready office. I had to fill out a lengthy application and, after I turned it in, had to take a little "evaluation" test. They pulled a terminal from behind the counter that looked something like a credit card machine and a yellow packet with multiple choice questions. The guy behind the counter, a VERY friendly hispanic man, instucted me to push the corrosponding number on the credit card machine that matched the questions in the yellow packet.

Here are a few sample questions, no kidding:

A. If your employer (boss) made you angry, how likely would you be to hit your employer (boss)?

1. Very likely
2. Somewhat likely
3. Unlikely
4. Not likely

B. It is O.K. to use drugs or alcohol on the job:

1. When your employer says it's O.K.
2. During your lunch break
3. Never
4. Whenever you need a boost

C. During the last month, how many times have you used a controlled substance (drugs)?

1. 25+ times
2. 15-20 times
3. 5-15 times
4. Never

The funny thing is, after I handed back the terminal for a pass/fail result, I asked the real friendly hispanic guy how often people failed the test. He said, "oh it's about sixty - forty."

I said, "sixty pass, right?"

He said yes.

At this point, I'm waiting in the waiting room with about a dozen other Labor Ready employees. Here is the profile of the Labor Ready Employee (LRE): Flannel shirt, blue jeans, holding a styrofome cup of coffee, heavy smoker, loopy confused look in his/her eyes. Some smelled like alcohol.

At first I took a seat next to a door in the back of the room, away from where most of the workers were sitting. The super friendly hispanic guy advised me to sit closer to the other people, so that I would be able to view the Labor Ready Instructional Video, which was playing a pre-recorded video in the corner. So I moved closer and watched the video. More multiple choice questions! Here's another sample, because I got such a kick out of this thing.

1. If you are dispatched to a job to dig a ditch and your employer (boss) asks you to operate a jack-hammer on concrete slabs, you should:

A. Operate the jack-hammer
B. Call your Labor Ready office immediately
C. Watch other people operate the jack-hammer, and learn from them before using
D. Ignore your employer (boss)

2. If you are injured while working on a job, what should you do FIRST:

A. Keep working anyway
B. Sit in the shade for a few minutes
C. Tell your boss and contact Labor Ready immediatly
D. Drive yourself to the hospital

3. You are dispatched to a job involving food service. During your lunch break you use the restroom. After you "clean up" you notice a brown clump on your finger. You should:

A. Notify your supervisor immediatly
B. Call Labor Ready
C. Wash your hands with warm water and soap, and again in the food area sink
D. Put the finger with the brown clump in your mouth and hope it's leftover chocolate from lunch.

Speaking of Labor Ready, I have to report in ten minutes. I'll follow this post up with my first day on the job.

Ta-ta,

Murphy

 

[mustynutz]

Let me quickly recap parts one and two for new readers: Part One- fucked, no money, desperate. Part Two- scored a job at Labor Ready.

There is no guruntee for work at Labor Ready. A person willing to work simply shows up as early as possible, signs his name on the sheet, and waits for some random employer to scoop him up and wisk him away to a jobsite. I figured this out after waiting for two hours. I looked around and none of the Labor Ready "regulars" registered anything out of place. I spoke up, "so, uh... do we just wait around and hope someone picks us up?"

Pretty much all of them looked right at me like I was speaking Swahilie. One of them answered, "yulp."

After waiting for three hours, the MEAN women behind the counter piped up, "anyone have a car that can start working Monday from 3:30 pm to 12:00 am in a machine shop?" This is the equivelent of a one-line classified ad. Anyone interested and qualified, which in this case requires a vehicle, responds. I said, "yulp!"

So she prints out a "work slip" and hands it to me. All the information I need is right there. Employer address, start and stop time, who to report to, and rate of pay. After work, I get this work slip signed and then show up to Labor Ready to have them literally cash it. Their logo, no kidding, is "Work Today, Paid Today."

I entered the reception area of this company. I started to say something to the lady behind the counter and she interupted me, "you the 3:30?" I said yes I'm the three thirty. "Have a seat," she said, "there's four more of you coming."

Now it is time to introduce to you my Labor Ready characters. They all landed this job with me, and all of them are interesting and unique in their own way.

We've got Mick, the Croation man with his bottom two teeth missing. He's about forty something, speaks terrible English, and his lower lip hangs to expose his gap. Heavy smoker.

Sharon, who is allied with nobody. When we take cigarette breaks, she smokes in the corner by herself and NEVER smiles. To her, we Labor Ready temps are not friends, we are competition. We could out work her and leave her without work. Her hair is stringy and kept in a bun, she drives a dumpy old maroon Mustang, she smokes Marlboro 100's, and if she talks she complains about being screwed. She is my least favorite of the four other LRE's.

Let's call this man Chuck because I can't pronounce his real name. Chuck grew up in Ghana, West Africa, and his accent sounds a lot like Jamacain. Chuck is suprisingly resilient and always has a smile on his face. His skin is super dark and his eyes are yellow. It's hard for me to understand a lot of what Chuck says but it is so refreshing to see another LRE in the exact same position that I'm in with a smile.

And now we get to my favorite, Chris. Chris was recently released from an eight year sentence in prison for attempted murder. His hands, he says, are registered with the state as lethal weapons. I asked Chris if he can really beat some ass. With deadly cold seriousness, he said to me, looking right in to my eyes, "what I know isn't about 'beating some ass' it's about breaking people down." I got that chilly sinking feeling in my stomach when he said that. I thought to myself, be nice to Chris, be nice to Chris, don't piss Chris off, be nice to Chris. After getting to know the guy, though, he's super super nice. I can tell he's got a kind heart. He's pretty easy to read because he NEVER STOPS TALKING. He smokes a different brand of cigarettes every day and often rambles on these pipe dreams about buying everyone pizza for lunch or other simple nonsense. "They'd have to bring it in a VAN," he said, and shot two barrels of cigarette smoke out of his nostrils. Chris is fit, sort of hot, actually, with blonde hair and light eyes. During the day he scams large retail stores by switching the bar codes on different items, returning the items, and pocketing the profit. He's also a compulsive gambler and probably a pathological liar but I don't know for sure.

After waiting in the reception area, Geoff came to greet us. He said, "you guys from Labor Ready?" We all nodded. "Come with me."

He didn't even shake our hands or ask us our names. To do that, I suppose, would just take extra time.

We were then guided to the break area and he gave us all plastic glasses and flouresent orange ear plugs. He talked to all of us like we were two years old, with a smirk on his face that quite clearly read, "I am better than you. You are pathetic. I don't want to know you."

After going through a couple safety guidelines, he pointed at Chuck, the Ghandi guy. Sitting in front of Chuck was a newspaper. He said to Chuck, "what are you doing with that paper you aint gonna have any time to read it you'll be so busy, hahahaha."

After that he said, "time to work," and passed us over to Steve, the aging hippy supervisor.

More to come,

 

[mustynutz]

Steve is a large man, with a big fat gut, who takes big lumbering steps in his steel-toed boots. He is the swing-shift foreman. And he hates people from Labor Ready, you can just tell. Many people from Labor Ready hate themselves already. So what.

So far, and this is after a long, hard, forty hour week, Steve has said two things to me. Okay he's only actually said one thing- the other was implied. The implied acknowledgement to my existence on this planet was a gesture to remind me to wear my safety goggles. He got my attention and tapped his own goggles. I put mine on. Later I heard him remind another prole to put his goggles on. He said, "you know, I've just had to drive TOO MANY people to the hospital cuz they got shit in their eyes. Do it again, and I'll write you up, okay?" The other thing he said to me was, "next time come in when the second bell rings."

Swing shift at Tube Specialties is from 3:30pm to midnight. After work, I drive two fellow LRE's home. Tonight, bored with the lack of conversation and feeling like really talking to real PEOPLE- not a computer screen or blank sheet of paper or myself, I told these two men, Chuck and Mickey, what I personally believe to be the meaning of life from a non-superstitious perspective. It was one sentence, written, long.

This is what I do at Tube Specialties, every day, for 450 hours: I pinch steel pipes between a clamp, cut them with a jizz-dripping blade, round off the edges with something called a deburring tool- which is nothing more than a dentist's drill times three, stack them and repeat this process over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. And over again.

I'm twenty three years old. When I was eighteen and dreaming all the time, this wasn't in my dreams. Don't get me wrong, I still dream. In the day time, especially at work, I have good dreams and bad dreams. Good dreams literally make me laugh, right there in the middle of a pipe-cut. Bad dreams make me think about having a beer after work.

A good dream might be about what exactly the substance is that they use at this machine shop to cool the blades. The machine that I work on resembles and oversized band-saw and, in order to keep the blade cool, a creamy white substance drools on the blade during each cut.

This substance is human jizz. It was invented by accident, but has completely revolutionized the business of pipe-cutting. In 1984, post Industrial-Revolution, a man by the name of Cumspot was cutting steel pipes in his garage. Between each cut, he would smoke a cigar or whack off, to kill time in order to let the blade cool. One time, at Saw Shop, he was jerking it when he realized that the blade was still running! "NOOOO," he thought, as he climaxed and shot jizz fucking everywhere. Prepared for the blade to overheat and be ruined indefinitely, he covered his eyes with his jizz-sopped hands. He was expecting the hear the snap of a hot blade breaking but instead he heard the sound of a nice clean cut. Perplexed, he look at the pipe. It was dripping with human jizz. Cumspot declared, "ah ha!" One year later- well, let's just say he never had to cut pipes again. Or use his right hand.
A bad dream might be about where I'll end up. I'd like to think this whole thing is a big joke. But really, it's not. I'm certainly not doing this to laugh. I am, however, trying to laugh in order to do this.

I wonder about where I'll be in exactly one year. Early July, 2005, assuming that terrorists don't code red this place! Will I still be cutting pipes and drinking a lot of beer to mask the fact that I'm a fucking pipe-cutter? Will I publish something and label myself a writer, having taken the advise of a few people that said I might have something to say after all? Will I have received that phone call from somebody who's destined to be with me and who will carry me off to a place where I can at last find true happiness? Will my Mother actually sustain eye-contact with me when she talks and will she ever be proud of her son?

Let me tell you all something I've learned. There is no phone call and the only person whom you're responsible for making happy is yourself. I think this is pretty important- maybe the most important thing I've ever said, so I'll say it again. There is no phone call and the only person whom you're responsible for making happy is yourself. That one is MINE!

For aspiring writers, here's the most important thing I've ever learned, and this isn't mine- it comes from my hero. He says that the biggest mistake aspiring writers make is assuming that what you know and what you have to say is not interesting to another person. When I read that I said, "whoa," and I started writing. And I haven't stopped since. Read Kurt Vonnegut Jr. if you liked that.

Another thing that is all mine mine mine. Talking to Chuck and Mickey tonight in my car, I asked them if they were religious. I wanted to know how they carried on, and so forth. One was Catholic, the other Christian.

Go fucking figure!

They asked me which one I was, Catholic or Christian. "Neither," I said.

Chuck, the guy from Ghana, West Africa, said, "well, den, what do you believe in?" I said myself.

They both laughed. Religious people know better, and in all honesty, I envy their ability to believe in more life after this one. My opinion: This one's enough! Keep in mind that we ALL work for Labor Ready. I just assume that superstitious people don't enjoy sleeping as much as I do. I get pissed off if I can only sleep for eight hours. Seriously, I'm miserable to be around!

"Here's what I think," I said. "The meaning of life is to make serious and honest connections with other human beings." They agreed.

Our two ten-minute and one half-hour breaks at Tube Specialties are dictated by an annoying bell that goes "BOOOP." We have exactly ten minutes to fire down a smoke and chug a bottle of soda. When I say exactly, I mean it. We have to be in our work station by the time the second bell goes off. How did I get here, I wonder? A BELL!! And why do I think I'm better than this? Is it a defense mechanism? Is it that or submission and acceptance? Try accepting this when you're incapable of believing that poor people get rich in the sky after this life! I should note that Tube Specialties is non-union.

We can thank labor unions for our weekends and overtime pay. If you're lucky enough to be in a labor union that isn't all bureaucratic and a business in itself, as some labor unions have become, you can thank whoever organized it for providing a living-wage.

During one of our breaks, I asked a full-time employee why there was no union. He told me never to say that word again. He said that every person he knew that had worked there and so much as whispered that filthy word disappeared. Their names and entire lives were switched with somebody else's at the Ministry of Truth but a guy named Winston. They were ERASED. I'm just kidding about that part. After all, we aren't slaves to the government, as suggested in Orwell's book. We're slaves to the dollar bill.

My favorite thing to do at work is pinch these bright orange ear-plugs between my fingers, jam them in my ears, and wait for them to expand and blot out all sound. I've had over forty hours of time to think about a good analogy to explain what happens when these things blow up in my ears. It's the audio equivalent of standing up real fast and seeing black and stars.

As always, thanks for reading.

 

[mustynutz]

15 pages deep... who's bringin the heat

"WEEEEE LOOOOVE MUUUUUSSSTYNUUUUUTZ"

Its the middle of the week, who gives you something to read....?

"WEEEEE LOOOOVE MUUUUUSSSTYNUUUUUTZ"

Tell me ya'll...what the fuck do ya smell

"MUUUUSSSSTYNUUUUUTZ"

Whos the one that keeps you sayin "damn that shit was funny as hell"

"MUUUUSSSSTYNUUUUUTZ"







Cmon ya'll you know the words....sing along....EVERYBODY NOW

 

[bayGIANTS]

damn. I cant read all that

 

[OG young SAV]

HELL YEAH. Good lookin Must. Time to get my laugh on....these shits be having me rollin'.

 

[OG young SAV]

damn. I cant read all that

Do what I do print them shits out and then read'em.